


Strangers and Stormy Nights

by Anna_Blossom



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, M/M, maybe a bit ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5051668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Blossom/pseuds/Anna_Blossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two soaked strangers, an overnight storm, and shelter in the form of a bus stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers and Stormy Nights

Francis Laurent cursed as he ran, polished Italian leather shoes striking the wet gravel. Just a few moments ago, the weather had been lovely, if not a bit chilly. The stars were twinkling high above him, the moon shining brightly, not a single cloud in sight. All of a sudden rain started to fall. For a few moments, it was just a light drizzle, then it was a heavy downpour. A very heavy downpour.

 

Cursing his luck and the weather simultaneously, he kept on running. He knew he should have had picked up his car from Dell’s shop yesterday. He knew he shouldn’t have volunteered to work overtime. He knew he should’ve taken Mikhail’s offer to drive him home. He knew he should’ve brought his umbrella at least. But no, he didn't do any of those things.

 

Resisting the urge to sneeze, Francis saw a bus stop just ahead. Shelter. He did a little mental dance of joy and ran faster, his sling bag repeatedly hitting his thigh as his legs moved. He slowed down to a jog when he reached the bus stop, panting and shivering, and deposited his bag on a bench.

 

Francis took out his phone and tried to turn it on. Nothing. The screen remained black. The battery was dead. “Oh, _merde_ ,” he hissed, still shivering as the rain continued relentlessly. He knew he should’ve brought his charger with him to the office. Another thing he thought of doing but didn't.

 

The Frenchman looked around, hoping to see some cars pass by. He tried to remember what time he left the office and recalled briefly glancing at the clock. Twelve midnight. That was fifteen minutes ago. There were no cars at this time.

 

Francis looked up at the sky. ‘Ze rain certainly isn’t going to let up any time soon,’ he thought with a grimace as he stared at the black clouds. Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up the sky, shortly followed by a loud clap of thunder.

 

“ _Fantastique_ ,” he groaned and plopped down next to his bag. He reached for his pack of cigarettes hidden in his coat’s pocket. Might as well have a smoke while he’s stuck here. He pulled out the pack and brought out a stick. Francis groaned again and checked the rest of his cigarettes. Soaked. All of them. Great.

 

Francis sneezed and then slumped against the backrest of the bench, running a hand down his face. He was tired and weary. All he wanted to do was go home, eat some dinner, then lie down in his soft warm bed and fall into a deep sleep, but another flash of lightning and boom of thunder told him that that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. The Frenchman pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to stop the headache that was forming. He wiggled his toes, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling of wearing wet socks.

 

The very least he could do now was to not catch a cold. Francis sighed in defeat and took off his scarf, and tried to squeeze out as much water out of it as he can. Afterwards, he removed his shoes and poured out any excess water that gathered in them. He briefly considered removing his socks and wringing them out as well, but decided against it.

 

Shivering, the Frenchman shrugged off his dripping black peacoat and tried to wring out as much water out of the sleeves. Just when he was putting it back on along with his navy blue scarf, he heard another clap of thunder. “Dammit!”

 

Francis looked up and saw a silhouette of a man running towards the bus stop. Heavy footfalls and more curses reached his ears and soon, a broad shouldered man wearing a leather jacket came into view.

 

Francis looked at the newcomer with mild curiosity. The man had a military haircut, a stocky build, and was carrying a camouflage duffel bag. He watched with interest as the muscular man sat down on the far end of the bench, took off his boots and poured excess water out of them.

 

The man must not have noticed him because the next thing he did after putting his boots back on was stand up and look around the area. When he saw Francis, he jumped a bit with a curse, eyes widening. “Holy Mary Mother of Joseph!”

 

Slightly amused at his choice of words, the Frenchman raised a brow. “Yes?”

 

“I, uh, didn’t see you there!” the man said in a loud tone. He plopped down next to Francis and placed his duffel bag beside himself. “Name’s Jane Doe,” the man introduced himself, extending a hand towards Francis.

 

“Francis. Francis Laurent,” the thinner man replied, taking his hand and shaking it once, immediately letting go afterwards. “Jane Doe?” he repeated with an undertone of skepticism, and the stocky man nodded in affirmation. Francis opened his mouth to say something but was silenced when Jane spoke first.

 

“It is not a girl’s name. It is my name. It belongs to me and not to some unidentified lady.”

 

“… I didn’t even say anyzing yet.”

 

“You were about to. Besides, you were thinking it. Everyone thinks it.”

 

Francis couldn’t deny that. Still, it was quite an unusual name. Not knowing what else to say, he settled for a ‘nice to meet you’ instead and received a gruff ‘you too’ in return. They sat next to each other in awkward silence, the rain still battering against the metal overhang of the bus stop.

 

A flash of lightning and a clap of thunder. Francis heard the man beside him grunt. “I’ll never get to work at this rate,” he grumbled, irritated. The thin man looked at him with a raised brow. “You’re going to work? At zis time?” he asked incredulously.

 

Jane nodded. “I work as a night guard at the hospital.”

 

“Ze one nearby?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Oh,” Francis looked at the man’s duffel bag, “I see.” Jane’s uniform was probably in it. He glanced at the man again and saw that he was dripping wet.

 

“How 'bout you?” Jane asked. “I’m sorry?” Francis asked, a bit confused. “I mean, why are you stuck here at this time?” Jane added while he tried to squeeze out water out of his shirt.

 

Oh. “I was ‘eading ‘ome. I didn’t zink zat it would rain at zis ‘our zough,” the Frenchman explained with a shrug. Jane nodded at his explanation and didn’t say anything else. Minutes of silence stretched between them as thunder boomed out again.

 

Jane zipped open his duffel bag and started to check if his stuff were just as soaked as he was. Francis watched curiously as he took out a plastic bag of some cans and began to inspect his clothes. He glanced at the contents of the plastic bag. Dog food. “You ‘ave a dog?” he asked, trying to make small talk with the stranger. Better than just sitting next to each other uncomfortably for the whole night.

 

“What?” Jane asked as he looked at Francis, who nodded his head towards the plastic bag. “Oh. Don’t have one. Those are for Lieutenant Bites.”

"Lieutenant Bites?"

 

"Yup. He's my pet raccoon."

 

So many questions ran through the Frenchman’s head after that. You named your raccoon Bites? You gave it a rank? You actually call your raccoon Lieutenant Bites? You can feed a raccoon dog food? But most importantly-

 

“You 'ave a pet raccoon?”

 

“Affirmative! Lieutant Bites is just like a small dog. Only he’s nocturnal and he sometimes eats trash,” Jane explained as he started to put his stuff back into his duffel.

 

“I… see.” Francis said slowly, his tone a bit unsure.

 

“What about you?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you own a pet?”

 

“ _Non_. I've never ‘ad one,” Francis answered. His mother had a tomcat back in France, but that particular feline was more attached to his mother anyway so he probably didn't count.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those hippie animal rights activists who think that animals shouldn’t be forced to live with someone who is perfectly capable of taking care of them,” Jane grunted out as he zipped his duffel bag close.

 

“What? No,” Francis looked at Jane incredulously, a bit startled at his statement. “Just because I don’t see ze need to keep a pet, doesn’t mean zat I’m a ‘’ippie animal rights activist’,” he added a bit defensively. "'ow did you even reach zat conclusion?" he muttered to himself afterwards..

 

“Hmph. Good thing you’re not, crouton. Otherwise I probably would’ve-“

 

“Did you just call me a crouton?”

 

Jane frowned a little at the interruption. “Yes, I did. You’re from France, aren’t ya?” The night guard stared at Francis. “You talk like one of those white-flag-waving maggots.”

 

“Not all Frenchmen are cowards. Zat’s like saying zat ze whole of Germany is made up of nozzing but Nazis,” Francis replied, not fazed in the least. He’s heard worse insults relating to his nationality. Jane's eyebrows furrowed. "Germany isn't?" He asked. “But yes, I did come from France,” Francis added, deciding to ignore Jane's somewhat ignorant remark. He unconsciously reached for his pack of smokes again, but once he brought it out, he cursed. ‘I forgot zat zey were soaked,’ he thought with a frown.

 

Francis was surprised to suddenly see a half-full cigarette pack held out to him. “Want one?” Jane offered, his lips already wrapped around a stick. Francis took one and nodded his thanks to the man, who grunted in reply. It was a cheaper brand compared to the one he preferred, but beggars can’t be choosers.

 

Francis took out his silver lighter and lit the end of his cigarette. “’ere,” he offered the lighter to the American beside him who took it with a grateful nod.

 

They sat there underneath the metal overhang of the bus stop, Francis with his legs crossed and Jane with his upper body slouched forward, smoking in silence as rain continued to pour down relentlessly and lightning lit up the sky occasionally.

 

Jane pulled up his right sleeve up just enough to look at his watch. Francis noticed and asked him what time it was. One-thirty. There were definitely going to be no cars passing by this part of town. If not because of the time, then it would be because of the weather.

 

They lapsed into silence again and lightning cracked the sky, thunder following a few moments afterwards.

 

Francis yawned. He was absolutely exhausted but the cold weather kept him from falling asleep. Besides, it wouldn’t do him any good to fall asleep here with only a stranger to watch over him. He glanced at said stranger with an appraising eye. Jane was muscular and well-built. He probably visited the gym regularly (Francis doubts that you can get that fit just by working as a night guard). His square jaw and slight stubble gave him a very masculine appearance. Overall, he was exactly Francis’ type. The office worker took a drag from his cigarette. He found out early in his life that he was bisexual. It wasn’t really that an uncommon of a thing in France. America, however, seemed to have an obsession with heteronormativity. He glanced at Jane again and decided that no, this man was certainly not into men. Or maybe that was just the weather making him so pessimistic.

 

Francis took another drag and looked straight ahead into the darkness, the only light coming from a streetlight just beside the bus stop and the occasional flashes of lightning.

 

“So,” Jane started, breaking the silence, “why were you heading home this late?”

 

“I volunteered to work overtime at ze office,” the Frenchman replied as he breathed out smoke from his mouth. “I needed ze money.”

 

“You, what, owe the Japanese mafia some money or something?” Jane asked him with a grin. Francis raised a brow at that. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he replied with an amused tone. “Not me,” the buffer man said with a short laugh, taking a huff from his own cigarette, “my ex-roommate. Something about building an amusement park.”

 

“An amusement park, you say?” Francis was curious now. He looked at Jane and took in his grin and overall amused expression, as if he was remembering a funny joke. “I take it zat ze endeavor didn’t go as planned?”

 

“Ha! You’re damn right it didn’t go as planned! It went so south it nearly went north,” Jane replied, his grin growing wider.

 

“Do tell.”

 

He began a short retelling of how his ‘wizard’ ex-roommate needed sacrifices for some kind of ritual to pay homage to some kind of god and decided that an amusement park was the way to go about it.

 

It was like the figurative ice between them had been broken. Soon, they were both sharing their own stories about themselves. Francis told Jane about the time he got dared to wear a ski mask at the beach. He had weird tan lines on his face for the next few weeks and refused to leave the house. Jane told him about the time he nearly turned his ex-roommate’s house into a raccoon sanctuary.

 

They told each other funny anecdotes about their friends, their families, even their exes (Francis did most of the talking at this point. He also made sure not to include any of his ex-boyfriends, just in case). They shared their hobbies, their interests, their pet peeves. They found out that both of them like jazz, barbeques, and horror flicks.

 

Francis physical attraction to the man grew into something more. He saw how hot-blooded and passionate and fiery the man was, yet at the same time, he saw a certain gentleness in his eyes when he talked about his raccoons, when he talked about his work, and when he talked about his friends.

 

Neither of them noticed, but they shifted closer to each other as they talked, the distance between them lessening until they were so close that their knees bumped as they laughed together.

 

“-and then I tell him, ‘Son, those are all things you _want_. This Santa gives you things you _need_. One: a sensible haircut.’ Then I just shaved off his hair with an electric razor!”

 

Francis nearly doubled over, his laughter mixed with undignified snorts. “ _Mon Dieu_ , what did ze parents have to say about zat?” he asked between giggles.

 

“The kid’s dad tells me to hold my horses, but then I told the kid that I was going to give him the gift of manhood,” Jane says, “then I march to the man and suckerpunch him right in the kisser.” He mimes a punching motion in the air with a huge grin on his face.

 

Francis laughed loudly, imagining the whole thing. “You are crazy, _mon ami_ ,” he says after a while, his mouth stretched into a grin. “Punching a man in front of ‘is own son. Shame on you.”

 

“Hey! I did save the boy from being abducted by an old Santa Claus-wannabe hippie by giving the maggot a skull fracture using an Action Saxton toy, you know,” Jane shot back, cigarette forgotten on one hand. Francis just gave him look of disbelief, but based on his previous stories, Jane was probably telling him the truth.

 

Francis shook his head and smiled.

 

“You know, you have a really stupid laugh,” Jane told him with a smirk. Francis just rolled his eyes at that.

 

“No, really, it sounds like this. Honhonhonho– ouch!”

 

“I will do much worse if you keep doing zat,” Francis threatened him after elbowing the American’s ribs, but the small smile on his face told Jane that he really didn’t mind his laugh being made fun of.

 

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try, cupcake,” Jane challenged with a grin.

 

The slimmer man just shook his head and lit up a new stick. He was probably on his third one now. There was a lapse of silence, but it was no longer awkward. This time it was comfortable, companionable silence, filled only by the pitter patter of the rain and the occasional thunder.

 

“You are a strange man, Mister Doe,” Francis said after a while.

 

“Hm?”

 

Francis looked directly at Jane’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed how blue they were.

 

“You constantly complain about your roommate –“

 

“Ex-roommate.”

 

“–and you clearly enjoy annoying ‘im, yet from what I can discern, it is obvious zat you care for him deeply,” he continued, ignoring the interruption. He paused to take a drag from his cigarette then opened his mouth to speak again.

 

“You are patriotic to ze point of jingoism, and yet your former girlfriend was Russian, your best friend Scottish, and you are currently speaking wiz me, a Frenchman, as if we ‘ad known each ozzer all our lives. You say you like taking care of children, but you punch their own fazzers in front of them. You are, from what I've gazzered so far, a simple-minded stubborn brute, and you are possibly one of the loudest men I’ve ever met. And yet,” Francis paused.

 

“And yet I strangely find myself drawn to you.”

 

Jane remained silent for a few moments, and then he spoke.

 

“Well, I could say the same thing about you, maggot.”

 

“ _Quoi_?” Francis blinked, a bit surprised.

 

“You're stuffy, dramatic, arrogant –“

 

The Frenchman raised an eyebrow at that.

 

“–and you try to act all mysterious and suave even though you're not all that –“

 

Said eyebrow went up even higher.

 

“– but you’re not afraid to back up from a dare, no matter how stupid it is; to wear a ski mask at the beach, for instance. You’re not some coward from Baguetteland. And you’re not afraid to get yourself dirty even though you obviously care about your looks like a pageant queen. Don’t see why you do, though. You’re already a good-looking sonovugun,” Jane said with a shrug, not knowing that his last sentence had caused Francis’ stomach to grow some butterflies.

 

“Also, you laugh like a donkey when you find something really funny.”

 

“I do not!”

 

“Yes, you do,” Jane shot back, and then he grinned. “Want me to demonstrate? It sounds like thi– ouch, dammit!”

 

“I did give you a fair warning,” Francis said with a small smirk. Jane pouted, and Francis couldn’t help but think that a fully-grown and very muscular man wearing a leather jacket shouldn’t be able to look that cute.

 

It seemed Jane did not mind his jab however, as that crooked smile that followed in the next second was all but anything less than a tell. “Baguetteland?” Francis asked with a very amused smile.

 

“Exactly. Right next to Pretzelland and Pizzaland.”

 

“And you belong where? Ze kingdom of fast food and diet coke?”

 

“Are you insulting the holy land of USA?!”

 

“Hmm. Maybe,” Francis shot back with an easy smile. His mouth stretched open into a tired yawn, which he immediately tried to cover up. “You tired, Frenchie?” Jane asked, watching Francis’ face carefully.

 

“Hmm. Just,” the Frenchman yawned again, unable to control it. “Just a little.”

 

Jane was silent for a moment. He honestly had no idea what to do or say in such a situation. A situation in which a stranger, one he had become very close to in the past few hours, is about to fall asleep next to him on a bench in a bus stop in the middle of a very stormy night was not something that happened to him often. Actually, this was the first time this ever to him, thus not enabling him to have an immediate plan of action.

 

Jane’s mind was still whirring when he felt a weight settle on his shoulder. He looked and saw Francis leaning against him, his eyes closed and his face slack. He was asleep.

 

The American stiffened for a fraction of a second, before he relaxed. He tried not to shift too much as he continued to smoke, the air filled with silence yet again as Francis dozed off, tired and weary.

 

* * *

 

 

As the hours progressed, the rain waned into a much calmer state, but Jane chose not to wake Francis up yet. He glanced at his watch. O’four hundred hours. He never really did get to go to work. The American grunted, annoyed at having to miss a day of work. He stared at his sleeping friend’s face and was entranced by how different he looked asleep. Long lashes fluttered as Francis shifted into a more comfortable position that let Jane take a closer look at his face.

 

The sharpness of his face softened by the dim light, he looked much more like a prince from some French fairy tale or something.

 

Realizing that he was beginning to stare, he looked away and lit another cigarette, feeling a bit fuzzy inside. He must’ve been a little sick or something because his ears and cheeks felt just a bit warmer than usual. “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t go to work,” he muttered softly.

 

Most of Jane’s body felt wet and cold from the rain, but the side in contact with Francis’ was enough to keep him warm as he waited for Francis to wake up. He was also close enough that if he turned his head, he’d smell Francis’ scent. Cologne, tobacco and something he couldn’t quite describe with words. It was… nice.

 

He inhaled another lungful of smoke, wondering what was wrong with him today. He glanced at the sleeping man beside him again and decided that it was perfectly normal to find other guys handsome. Admitting someone was handsome or beautiful does not mean you are attracted to them in a romantic way.

 

Then again, it wasn’t Francis’ looks that made him different. It was his whole personality, or at least, the parts he had shown Jane. His nice smile, his stupid laugh, his gorgeous eyes–

 

Wait, stop right there. He was not in love. Besides, even if he was (which he was not), Francis probably wouldn’t date a shmuck like him.

 

Jane sighed and took his final drag from the cigarette before flicking it away, watching as it landed in a nearby puddle. His gaze wandered towards the man beside him again. After he realized that he was staring again, he looked away quickly. So quickly he nearly hurt his neck. He was not in love, damn it.

 

* * *

 

 

It was exactly four-forty when Francis woke up. The first thing he noticed was that his side felt warm. The next thing was that his neck hurt. The last thing was the smell of leather, aftershave and soap.

 

His eyes fluttered open and he raised his head, only to find Jane’s blue orbs staring back at his own.

 

“Had a nice nap, sleeping beauty?”

 

Francis quickly got off Jane’s shoulder, his cheeks tinted red. He straightened himself up and cleared his throat, turning his head away from Jane. “Oh, um, yes, I,” he bit his lip to stop himself from stuttering. He could still feel blood rush to his cheeks and butterflies flutter in his stomach. _Mon Dieu_ , what was wrong with him? He told himself to snap out of it and turned to face Jane again.

 

“I apologize for sleeping on your shoulder, _mon ami_ ,” Francis said, a bit of embarrassment lacing his voice. “I did not realize I was zat tired.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, crouton,” Jane replied easily, shrugging his shoulders, feeling slightly colder now that Francis wasn’t pressed against his side. He checked his watch again before looking out. “It’s already 4:43, but the damn rain’s still going.”

 

Francis looked out and nodded. It wasn’t as strong as it had been before he fell asleep, but it was still strong enough to keep them from going anywhere without an umbrella. Unless they wanted to be soaked to the bone again.

 

He felt an involuntary shiver crawl up his spine, so he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to warm himself up.

 

“You cold?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You can have my jacket if you want.”

 

Francis scoffed. “If I did zat, zen you would be cold.”

 

Jane looked like he was at a loss for words. His gaze moved down for a brief moment, and then he got an idea. He shuffled a bit closer to Francis and put his arm around the other’s shoulders.

 

The Frenchman jumped at first, unsure of what Jane was trying to do exactly. He looked at Jane questioningly.

 

Jane simply grunted in reply and looked away, his ears a bit pink. “This way neither of us feels cold,” he said gruffly, already feeling warmer. Especially in the face. And the neck.

 

Francis took in what was visible of Jane’s blush and smirked. What if he…? He leaned into Jane’s hold, indicating that he was fine with it, and felt just how muscular Jane actually was underneath his jacket. “Such a gentleman,” he teased, tossing Jane a sly look.

 

Jane grunted again in reply, but he noticeably shifted just a bit closer. Francis noted that he was still avoiding his gaze though.

 

“I honestly didn’t expect zis from you. You are certainly full of surprises, _mon ami_ ,” he continued, not at all discouraged by the lack of a verbal reply. In fact, he was encouraged by it.  He knew that Jane was the type of man who’d openly show if he was uncomfortable with something. Right now, he only looked confused and just a little bit red in the face.

 

“I like zat,” Francis said, subtly pressing up against Jane’s side.

 

“Are you hitting on me?” Jane blurted out suddenly, turning his head to look at the other man directly.

 

Francis blinked, and then he laughed lightly. “I should’ve expected zis bluntness from you,” he said afterwards. “What if I were to answer yes?”

 

“I…” Jane started. Then he paused for a long moment. Francis watched as Jane’s eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned down into a frown, obviously thinking hard about his response.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

The Frenchman hummed in thought. That was certainly a better response than what he expected. “And if I were to answer no?”

 

“I’d be… disappointed,” Jane answered slowly and hesitantly, and then he nodded to himself. “I don’t know why, but I’d feel a bit disappointed,” he added, tone surer than before.

 

Francis hummed again in response, and then he lifted his gaze, his own gunmetal orbs meeting with Jane’s.

 

“Which answer would you prefer?”

 

“Yes.”

 

It was an immediate answer, all traces of Jane’s previous hesitation gone from his one-word reply, making Francis smile.

 

“And what would you do if my answer is ‘yes’?”

 

“Stop dancing around, maggot and just get straight to the point. Were you hitting on me or not?” Jane said with a huff and looked away, causing Francis to chuckle. He leaned more into Jane’s hold and crossed his legs.

 

“ _Oui_.”

 

“Wee?”

 

Jane looked at him blankly, obviously trying to figure out what that meant. Francis laughed. “You are so adorable,” he cooed, causing some of the red on the other man’s face to return. The American opened his mouth to say something.

 

“I am no–“

 

“Yes, I was flirting wiz you,” Francis said, effectively cutting off Jane. He stiffened a giggle when he noticed how pink Jane’s ears were. Gunmetal eyes made contact with bright blue orbs. “Now, what do you plan to do about it?”

 

There was silence. For a while, Francis was worried that he might have been expecting too much, but all of his worries were swept away when he felt Jane’s other hand eclipse his face and suddenly, they were kissing.

 

It was cliché, but Francis swore that he felt a spark when their lips touched. But just as fast as it started, the kiss was broken.

 

There was silence as they stared into each other’s eyes. Francis blinked, and then smiled.

 

“What? No tongue?” he teased fondly, his smile growing bigger when Jane sputtered afterwards. Jane saw his amusement and frowned, turning his head away and trying to hide his pink ears.

 

“The rain stopped,” he grunted softly, looking at the sky. Francis turned his head to see. The sky was a very faint purplish hue now, no more nimbus clouds in sight. It was still very cold, but that was to be expected. There was no more thunder, lightning, or rain. The storm had ended.

 

“It’s about time,” Francis gently shrugged off Jane’s arm and got up. He stretched and tried to get rid of the crick in his neck. Feeling Jane’s eyes on him, he turned around.

 

“You are being very quiet.”

 

Jane stood up. “I…” he started hesitantly. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

 

“Well, zere’s always a first time for everyzing,” Francis said as reassuringly as he can. Both of them know that this is potentially a bad idea. One does not simply start a relationship with a stranger they met on a stormy night, much less kiss them. He took a step forward, making it so that they were directly face to face.

 

 “Perhaps–“

 

“Can I–“

 

They both started at the same time, immediately pausing afterwards. Francis laughed, and gestured for Jane to go first.

 

“Can I get your number?”

 

“Only if you give me yours as well,” Francis replied with a small smirk. Since his phone was dead and Jane didn’t have his at the moment, he took out a piece of paper from his bag, ripped it into two and gave one half to Jane. He scribbled his number on it before exchanging it with the other man.

 

“You ‘ave cute ‘andwriting,” Francis teased, if only to see Jane’s endearing blush again.

 

“Stop calling me cute,” Jane grumbled softly in reply as he pocketed Francis’ number.

 

 “But it’s true, _mon ami_ ,” the Frenchman replied, and then he paused in thought. “Or per’aps I should call you _mi amor_?”

 

“I cannot answer you since I don’t speak French.”

 

“One means friend and ze ozzer means love. Which would you prefer?”

 

Jane’s receding blush returned full force after hearing the word ‘love’ come out of Francis’ mouth. “Just… just call me whatever you want, maggot.”

 

“Hmm, per’aps I shall,” Francis said with a smirk, “maggot.”

 

“Shut it, crouton.” Jane shoved him playfully and went to get his duffel bag from the bench. He also got Francis’ bag and handed it to the Frenchman.

 

“Per’aps if you make me,” Francis purred, grinning afterwards as he took his bag. He expected the slight blush he got from Jane. He even half-expected the roll of his eyes. What he didn’t expect was for Jane to lean forward and kiss him on the lips.

 

Gunmetal eyes slightly widened in surprise, before fluttering shut. He parted his lips and deepened the kiss. The kiss earlier was short and chaste, so different from the one they were sharing now. This one was more passionate, less hesitant. It made the butterflies in his stomach multiply

 

For such a rough man, Jane had surprisingly soft lips, something Francis failed to take note of earlier. He felt Jane pull back, and opened his eyes to look into Jane’s. Silence surrounded them again and Francis felt that his cheeks were slightly warmer than they were earlier.

 

Jane grinned triumphantly despite his pink ears. Francis didn’t know whether it was because of the cold or the kiss.

 

“That certainly made you shut your trap.”

 

Francis simply chuckled in reply.

 

“What did you want to say?” Jane asked. “Earlier, I mean.”

 

“I was going to ask if you would like to ‘ave a coffee wiz me sometime zis week.”

 

“Like a first date?”

 

“I prefer to zink of zis is our first date, but yes, like a first date.”

 

Jane nodded. “Alright,” he said. “If this is our first date,” he added after a short while, “how ‘bout I walk you home?” Jane offered Francis his arm with a grin.

 

Francis responded with a short laugh and a smile.

 

“Yes, I would like zat.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I've been on AO3 a long time but this is the first time I've posted my own story. Please feel free to give any constructive criticism (I would really appreciate it) and I hope you enjoyed the story.
> 
> ~ A.B.


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